


Two Wrongs Make a Right

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M, The Sentinel Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: Jim has to come up with a Christmas gift for Sandburg
Relationships: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39
Collections: 2019 'The Sentinel Secret Santa' - Gift Exchange





	Two Wrongs Make a Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magician](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magician/gifts).



> Happy Holidays Magician!

**TWO WRONGS MAKE A RIGHT**

  
NOTE: Happy Holidays, Magician!  
  


_Versimilitude: Philosophical notion that some propositions are more or less true than other propositions. The problem of verisimilitude is the problem of articulating what it takes for one false theory_

**December 13th-**

Damn, trying to find something for the guy at any time is rough but at Christmas? Yeah, I hit a brick wall every year. A highly decorated brick wall, mind you, with a lovely string of those old-fashioned Christmas lights trimming the top with tiny bright and shiny little ornaments hanging from the cord. That brick wall is why I'm standing in Murdoch's, one of the oldest department stores on the entire West Coast. But do I see a gift for the guy? No, I see the brick wall. And that lady spraying perfume over everyone.

I'm surrounded by a hoard of shoppers and can't move. They're rushing on the left of me, the right, and their crossing in front and behind me, and it's taking all the self-control I've got not to pull a total sentinel-sized freak out, followed by pulling my gun and shooting in the air just to get them to stop for a minute. Not that I think even for a minute they'd stop, they're too intent on gift shopping to even look.

Of course, shooting off my gun in the air wouldn't really be a good idea, anyway, what with me being on the first of four floors. Don't really want a wayward bullet to hit Santa while he's on temporary duty upstairs in the toy department. But wouldn't the headlines be incredible?

**"CASCADE POLICE DETECTIVE SHOOTS THE MURDOCH SANTA!"**

That's too many words for a headline, plus no alliteration. Let me try again.

**"MURDOCH'S SANTA MURDERED BY MARAUDING MOOSOR!"**

That's still too many words but I'm too tired to think of anything better, plus I'd have to tell everyone what a _moosor_ is...if l could even remember. Blair won a recent game of Scrabble with that word and still don't think it should've been allowed. And when did Simon start taking Sandburg's side anyway? Although...thanks to Sandburg, I'm now a wealth of useless information; a regular trivia trove ... no, a trove of trivia.

Shit, what was l thinking again?

Oh, yeah, headlines. So no pulling my gun, but am l proud of my alliteration, or what? Okay, the cloud of perfume hanging over me is starting to kill off brain cells.

Why do they have to spray everything that walks in the door? Some kind of initiation ritual? Jeez, I even sound like Sandburg. And I've lost my mind-thread...again. What was I grumbling about? Oh, yeah. Perfume purveyors. Ah, alliteration again. Sandburg would be so proud.

Not to change the subject, but not only do l now have a sentinel-grade headache, but when Sandburg gets a whiff of me, he'll think I've been with a woman...or seven... and kill me. Here comes another headline....

**"Cascade Cop Killed by Curly-haired Companion!"**

I'm getting pretty good at this alliteration thing, aren't I? But that's what the newspapers love, right? Right. Yeah, I know he wouldn't think I'd been with a woman because he trusts me, as well he should. But he'll wonder, and what I wonder is if he'll ask? 

All right, I need to stop letting my brain run amok because I've got to move because I've got to get that guy a gift and was that more alliteration?

Don't answer that, just move;

 **NOW**!

Okay, okay, you don't have to yell at yourself.

Hey, wait a minute...I know her....

Well, I'll be damned, Chancellor Edwards, as I live and breathe. I shouldn't be thinking what I think I'm thinking even though my hand just went to my holster which signals I'm thinking exactly what I thought I was thinking and I need to stop thinking that thought. I need to think about something else; anything else - except what I'm thinking.

_Remember why you're here remember why you're here remember why...._

Oh yeah, a gift for that hard-to-buy-for companion of mine. The one who won't kill me even though I smell like I've been with those seven women.

Wait a minute...wait just one minute...oh, man...James Joseph Ellison, you're brilliant, which means I'm brilliant, because of what I'm now thinking, which is something totally unexpected - unexpected for me, anyway.

_"...he produced wonderfully painted pictures, which were exhibited by him in some sort of small closed box through a very small aperture, with great verisimilitude...."_

Now why on Earth did that sentence of Sandburg's just pop into my head, one might ask? The answer's standing at the jewelry counter right now. Yep, Evil Edwards, and thanks to a Saturday discussing artists and their works with the guy with whom I share a bed and my life. My unexpected thought may just become the best gift ever.

Oh, this is going to be so good.

* * *

"Come on, what did you get me?"

Jim put the Sunday paper down, gave the typical put-upon sigh, and said, "Do you realize that for the last eight years, you've asked that question every single one of the twelve days before Christmas?"

"No, I didn't realize that, but I know you just used twenty-two words to tell me what should've taken just one; 'no'. I won't say that's a record for you, but if we go back those same eight years, we'd find all you've ever needed to do was - just - say - no." He reached over and took the piece of toast Jim had just carefully buttered, out of his hand and, while smearing strawberry jam on it, added, "Nope, not a record, but close."

Before Jim could reclaim his toast, Blair added, "So yeah, I'm guessing if we add up all twenty-two words, it'd definitely spell 'no', as in you won't tell me what you got me."

Not the least bit confused by Sandburg's subject-hopping, Jim waited until Blair was about to stick the toast in his mouth before snatching it back. He took a healthy bite and, after chewing deliberately slow, he swallowed and asked, "What were you asking about, again?"

Blair stuck out his tongue, pushed back his chair, got up, went into the kitchen, put two pieces of toast in the toaster and then, while they toasted, he turned and rested against the counter. "You really are a jerk. I want that noted for the record."

Jim looked around the apartment and then with a shrug, said, "It's funny, Chief, but I don't see a judge in the room, so just what record would you be talking about?"

The toast popped up at that moment so Blair gingerly removed them and because he forgot his plate, grabbed a paper towel. Using it as a plate, he walked back to the table, took his seat and, with his own deliberate slowness plus a pinch of nonchalance, started buttering his just-right toast. "Santa's record. You know, the naughty or nice one? I want to make sure he understands.... " His voice trailed off. He blinked a couple of times, then shrugged his shoulders. "Shit, I don't even remember what we're talking about."

Laughing, Jim reached over and took the other piece of Blair's toast - just managing to evade the knife Sandburg was using to try and slap the back of his hand. "How old are you again?" He waved the toast in a 'don't bother to answer' kind of way. "Don't bother to answer, it doesn't matter how old you get, you'll never be older than twelve." He quickly buttered and jammed his toast before it could be snatched back by its owner. "Besides, twelve or...." He made a show of counting the fingers of his left hand, "thirty-five, who says I got you a present? We're both too old for such nonsense."

"First of all, I'm not thirty-five, I'm only thirty-four, and second, however old I am you're always going to be a lot older _and_ I call bullshit on us being too old for gifts. Two hundred will never be too old. But thank you for reminding me. So, tell me what you got me for Christmas.

"Fine, you want to know, don't want to be surprised come Christmas morning, then so be it, I'll tell you." He took a deep breath---

"Wait a minute, you're not really going to tell me, are you? You're not giving up that easy, are you? Big bad Jim Ellison surrenders after an argument that doesn't even mount up to a hill of beans? Tell me it ain't so!"

"Was that a Freudian slip? A sexual Freudian slip?"

"Why, whatever do you mean? I'm still eating so why would I be throwing sexual Freudian slips around?" He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "Or should that be, why would I be throwing 'Freudian sexual slips' around?"

Jim winced. "Now _I've_ forgotten what we're talking about. But hell, sexual was in the conversation so I say let's finish our toast and then enjoy our Sunday by going back to bed and doing some Freudian sexual slipping."

Blair shoved his toast straight into his mouth, chewed fast, swallowed, and then jumped up. "Race?"

"You're on."

As they pushed and shoved their way towards the stairs, Blair yelled, "Top! Dibs on top!"

"Winner tops," Jim yelled back.

_______

**December 15th-**

"I just want a perfect Christmas morning for him; you know the kind, where not only is every present a hit- but," his voice softened, "there's that one really special gift... the one they didn't even know they wanted...." At Simon's look, a cross between curious and ' _you've lost your marbles_ ', he let his voice trail off. Jim clearly wasn't getting through to him. Exasperated, he said, "Come on, Simon, l know when you were a kid, there was no way you enjoyed finding all those gaily wrapped packages full of socks and underwear. And how about now? Do you really love the twenty million outlandish ties Santa keeps putting under your tree?"

"Let's not exaggerate. I only get a couple hundred crazy ties."

"A couple hundred, twenty million or one, you understand why I might be a little tired of the books and weird shirts Blair gets, not to mention the ' _god-only-knows-what-that-is_ ' gifts Naomi sends from whatever part of the globe she's trotting around."

Trying to look serious, Simon gave a hopeless shake of his head. "Forgetting Naomi for a moment, it is getting harder to find a bowling shirt he doesn't have." Then, after the much-deserved punch in the arm from Jim, he grinned. "By the way, just how many of those things does he have now? I'm guessing around twenty million, which is weird because he doesn't even wear them anymore. Not that the bowling shirt issue is my problem, or the rest of the gangs. After all, we're talking about what you're getting him, right?"

Jim nodded, then indicated the booth behind them, which had just cleared. "Let's take the gift discussion over there. We're both starved and think better on full stomachs."

Simon responded to the suggestion by grabbing his beer and the popcorn and sliding into the indicated booth.

After they were settled, their waitress walked over, menus in hand. "You too want the usual or would you actually like to look at a menu?"

Smiling up at her, Simon answered, "You know us too well, Bridge. But just to make it interesting this time, let's take a look at that thing?"

  
She put a menu in his hand, her fingers resting on his a little longer than absolutely necessary before favoring him with a wink and moving off.

  
"Are you two going to keep up this flirtation indefinitely, or do you think you could get up the courage to ask her out?"

  
In answer, Simon opened the menu. "You know, I've always wanted to try the shepherd's pie. Maybe now's the time to do it."

  
"Well, you're certainly not getting any younger, so yeah, I think maybe the time is now," Jim said with his own wink.

_________

Simon dropped his napkin on the table, sat back and, with a satisfied grin, said "I've got to admit, Shepherd's Pie's a revelation. Hard to believe I've been satisfied with their cheeseburgers all this time when I could've had that." He indicated the cleaned out mini-casserole dish. "How were your bangers and mash?"

  
Jim glanced over at Bridget who, when she thought Simon wasn't looking, kept sneaking looks at Simon, and answered, "If you're going to start dating a sweet young Irish lass like Bridget, you need to know the difference between 'Bangers and Mash' and 'Colcannon' with bangers."

  
"Ellison, you had sausage with mashed potatoes - period."

  
"Correction. Mashed potatoes made with kale makes them colcannon. And my fingers were delicious. So, you gonna ask her out?"

  
Simon started playing tabletop-piano with his fingers, a sign Jim recognized as meaning the subject was about to be changed. 

  
"Not to change the subject or anything, but there's still that little matter of Sandburg's gift that you've been rambling on about without actually saying anything?"

  
"Right," Jim said, "Bridget on your own sweet time. So back to gifts."

  
"Thank God," Simon breathed out in relief. "Although...one thing puzzles me. You two have always managed to come up with some pretty terrific presents for each other - especially since, you've...you know, you two are kind of--"

  
With a wicked grin, Jim said helpfully, "Hooked up? Doing the--"

  
"If you say 'Horizontal Mambo', I'll arrest you for lack of originality." Simon downed the last of his beer. "You know what I'm saying."

  
"Fine, whatever. The point is-"

  
"Thank God we're finally getting to the point."

  
"I was about to repeat, because you're getting older and your memory's going, how this year's special and I want to give him something special, which again means not a single argyle sock or bowling shirt under the tree." He gave a little shrug. "Something you should understand because as a father, you must be tired of telling Daryl, 'But you need it,' every time he opens a package with clothes."

  
"Not since the divorce. I've gone out of my way to get him everything on his list and leave the, 'But you need it' stuff to his mother." He grabbed the last of the popcorn before adding, "But you're not his father, and Sandburg's loved everything you've ever given him and you know it." He tossed the popcorn into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Just what's so special about this Christmas anyway?" He asked as he pushed the empty bowl away.

  
Suddenly self-conscious, and maybe a little embarrassed, Jim glanced downward only to find that he was balling up his napkin. He quickly dropped it. "Two reasons. One you should remember because we're celebrating the anniversary of his graduation from the Academy - and the other is kind of personal - in the TMI way, but--"

  
Simon held up his hand. "Say no more; for the love of God, say no more."

  
Smiling, Jim nodded. "Right. So the first anniversary. You were right when you said how Sandburg and I always manage to get each other just the right thing - but this year, I was fresh out of ideas. He's a hard guy to buy for anyway, once I remove those argyle socks of his, the boxers and bowling shirts from the equation, and yeah, sure, in the last couple of years, I've done a damn fine job of getting just the right gift--"

  
"You know what Sandburg is?" Simon interrupted. "He's an excellent hint-giver. And by the way, I remember the year he actually hinted at a pair of boxers, remember?"

  
Chuckling, Jim said, "Yeah, the Tony Stark-Iron Man briefs. How many pairs did he end up with?"

  
Simon started ticking off names, one finger at a time. "Me, you, Rafe, Henri, Joel, Steven, Megan, who also got him the matching socks, and finally Daryl. So eight pairs of Stark/Ironman boxers and a pair of Iron Man socks. And damned if he didn't love every single one of them."

  
"He's worn them too, but only off-duty. The day after Christmas, when putting them away, he said he'd be damned if, injured in the line of duty, he'd want the whole world to know there was a detective running around in Stark-Iron Man underwear."

  
Simon gave a little snort. "He doesn't seem to have the same problem with the socks; he was wearing them yesterday."

  
"Yeah, I know. Don't ask me why their okay but the underwear isn't, but then again, we're talking about the Sandburg brain." 

  
They shared a few quiet knowing minutes while letting their dinner digest; but curiosity finally got the better of Simon and he had to ask. "Okay, so why did you want to meet here and what do I have to do with getting the guy the perfect gift?"

  
They were at Hanrahan's Pub, a major cop hangout and owned by Simon's first mentor from his time at the Academy. And since Simon had been flirting with the owner's daughter for some time, it could be said he had an ulterior motive for suggesting it for lunch. They'd spent the previous hour nursing a beer, munching popcorn, and talking about Jim and Blair's latest case , giving him a chance to figure out how to tell Simon what he needed. And now, two hours later, the moment was finally here and Jim still didn't have the words.

Simon looked longingly at the empty popcorn bowl, sighed, then said, "Okay, so I get you're dilemma." Then, in a high pitched voice, he added, "I just wanted the perfect toy, a pretty pink dress, a shiny pair of black patent leather shoes, and new outfits for Barbie!" 

Jim no longer needed to wonder if he and Sandburg had finally driven Simon over the edge; it was clear they had. "Simon, I feel like I should apologize on behalf of myself and Sandburg for driving you insane over the last eight years - and yeah, I always wanted new outfits for my Barbie too."

Simon did what he knew Sandburg would've done in the same situation; he tossed his napkin at Jim - and got him right in the face. Then, with his best Captain's expression in place, said, "I was doing an imitation of my ex-wife doing her imitation of herself at age ten. She'd give me the same speech every Christmas as her way of explaining why it was so important we find that perfect gift for Daryl. She'd regale me with all of her parents past Christmas missteps, while at the same time, sending me a message to ensure _she_ got exactly what she'd been hinting at since the first of October. Have to give her credit, she was an equal opportunity hinter."

"Yeah, well, I don't exactly have that problem with Sandburg."

"Of course not, he's a guy and we don't do that kind of thing - at least not once we got past sixteen -- or twenty-one -- okay, maybe 35."

Figuring that didn't require a response, Jim said instead. "Look, I didn't get you here just to complain or have you help me cry in my beer, so let's start where the problem started; at Murdoch's, surrounded by crazy shoppers while I tried to find the right gift - and then something happened...I saw...and she...and that gave me this idea...but...but--"

"Oh, for God's sake, spit it out, Ellison. We'll be old men before you do. Just what the hell do you need me to do?"

"Okay, right. Get to the point. Brevity and long story short. So... here's the thing ... do you still have that friend on the Board of Regents at Rainier?"

"I've never had a friend on the Board at Rainier. Hell, if I had, do you think I'd have let all that crap come down on Sandburg's head following that press conference five years ago?"

The expression on Jim's face; the way it went from slightly embarrassed but hopeful, to crushed and devastated, was more than Simon could take. "Okay, look, I do have a good friend with the Alumni Association; Sam Wilkerson. Although," he scratched the back of his head, "Now that I remember... I did hear...yeah, I believe he's now on the Board." He cocked his head. "Now why do I think this is about Sandburg's doctorate, which I didn't realize was even still on the table?"

"Because that's exactly what it's about - and as far as I'm concerned, it's never been off the table, and now I think there's a way to fix things, because your friend's just who we need." He grinned; a huge and very hopeful grin. "So put it back on the table, Simon, because I saw Chancellor Edwards at Murdoch's yesterday," he grimaced, "and seeing her standing there, so damn sure of herself...anyway, that's when the idea of how we can get the university to reverse her decision and let him resubmit came to me."

"Jim, I believe you've rendered me speechless."

"Evidently you need to relearn the definition of speechless - which means less speech, as in nothing, no words," Jim offered with absolutely no fear of reprisal for correcting his boss. "You, on the other hand, responded with words."

Simon lifted his empty glass, shook his head and said sadly, "Not only do I have nothing left to drink, but clearly your eight years with Sandburg," he sighed. "Obviously brain damage - irreversible."

Ignoring a statement that probably had some truth to it, Jim asked, "Aren't you curious? Even a little bit?"

Simon thought about it for a whole before saying, "Nope."

Jim held up his hand, thumb and forefinger not quite touching. "Not even _this_ much?"

Simon squeezed Jim's thumb and forefinger together. "No."

Pulling his hand away, Jim shook his head in disbelief. "You disappoint me Simon; seriously disappoint me. I'll never be able to look at you as an authority figure; a great leader of men, Cascade Captain of capable, clever, creative cops."

_*Seriously?.Alliteration again?*_ , Jim thought. _*I'm hopeless*_

"You don't seriously think I'm going to fall for that, do you? I thought you were far more intelligent - and creative, Ellison. Oh, wait, of course, the brain damage."

"I am smarter, which is why you're going to listen to me, and you're going to that friend of yours, Sam Wilkerson, and you're going to get the ball rolling on this."

Simon was about to respond with another 'no'...but something about the idea, and Jim's expression....

Suddenly he could see Sandburg standing behind that podium, saying the words that would destroy his life's work, his academic reputation; all for the man he loved - and yeah, for the entire squad - and for him. It has also been at that moment he'd realized Blair Sandburg did in fact love Jim Ellison. He'd always known there'd been a deep and abiding friendship between the two, but watching him during that press conference, the way his voice broke when denouncing Jim's abilities, yes, it'd all been there. Painful, beautiful, pure and deep. Now he glanced down at Jim's left hand, at the plain silver band on his finger, and knew he was nodding - and that he should probably add words to his agreement.

"Okay, what's the plan?"

___________

"You're crazy, it'll never work, it's impossible, it can't be done, you're living in la-la land--"

"Simon, enough. You can stop now, I get it. You're wrong, but I get it."

"Aw, come on, Jim, please? ESP? You think that's going to work?"

"I've thought about this long and hard and the only way to succeed is to tell another lie that's as close to the truth they think they know when the story broke, but that Sandburg corrected with a lie - see?"

Simon rubbed a hand over his face, then glanced back over his shoulder, trying to catch anyone's eye so he could order something stronger than the Irish coffees Bridget had brought almost an hour ago. As it happened, he caught Pat's eye, who, after one look at his old friend, took a bottle of his best Irish whiskey from the shelf, grabbed two glasses, and headed to their table. "Would this be what you'd be looking for, Simon?"

"That's it exactly, Pat."

Hanarhan poured a finger's worth into each glass. "Should I be leaving the bottle then?"

Both men nodded, but then Pat looked from one to the other - and then back at Simon. Making a little clucking noise deep in his throat, he said, "You were a fine young cadet, you were, and surely a fine Captain ya are now, but I'll not be having a drunkard setting a spark under me daughter. Understood?"

Simon blinked a couple of times before switching his gaze from Jim to Pat. "Uhm, does that mean if I let you take the bottle back, you wouldn't mind a few sparks?"

Pat, a big man with dark blue eyes and black hair only now showing streaks of grey, rolled back on his heels a bit before saying thoughtfully, "The only sparking good enough for my Bridget would be the kind that leads to this." He pointed at the wedding ring on his own finger. "There be more than a few years between the two of you, but so it is between myself and her sainted mother." With that, he took the bottle and walked back to the bar.

"I wouldn't swear to it, but I believe you were just given permission to woo his daughter. Hopefully you remember how."

"Ha-ha." Simon indicated the glass in front of Jim. "Let's drink up and then work on the whole ESP thing."

"I'm more than happy to, but as for the whole ESP thing, I already have the plan figured out. You just need to help make it happen."

Simon lifted his glass and was just about to down it when he froze, hand halfway up. "We don't have to deal with Edwards, do we? Because I couldn't promise not to use my gun."

"Been there, almost did it, and no, we don't even have to see her. Sam's our in."

"We're going to lie to him?"

"You tell me? Just how trustworthy is he?"

"We served together in Nam; three years, side by side, and we're all that's left of our platoon. How's that for trustworthy?"

Jim knew he didn't have to say a word; Sam was in - all the way. 

________

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

"Sam, if you do your part, we can't fail."

Sam Wilkerson looked a bit dubious, but he trusted Simon. Besides, now that he understood the facts, and even though it was going to take a little subterfuge to right the wrong done to Detective Sandburg, he knew it'd be worth it. There was also the added bonus of knocking Edwards down of peg - if not finally ridding the University of her altogether.

Their plan would never have had a chance if there hadn't been certain changes among the board, himself included. The current members favored education over bonuses tied to department donations; a task Edwards had been very good at accomplishing - in order to plump up her own pocketbook.

He glanced at his watch, then back up to Simon. "Where is he? We're on a tight schedule and only have 30 minutes once George and Dan get here."

They were in one of the university conference rooms with a scheduled appointment to meet two fellow regents, Dan Stevens and George Mendez, but if Jim ran late, they'd lose out. Stevens had to leave no later than noon as he was flying to Vermont for Christmas with his wife's family, and to affect the type of change they were attempting, it required the approval of three board members - and time. And it was already eight-thirty, with their meeting scheduled for eight forty-five.

Fortunately Sam was close to both men, trusting them as much as Simon trusted him. In addition they were the only two non-corporate members of the board; both having come from the educational side of things. There was the added advantage that both were equally disenchanted with Chancellor Edwards and her greed.

"He'll be here, Sam. Don't worry, just trust me - he'll be here."

"There's a lot of trust going around over this, isn't there?" Sam noted rather dryly.

Feeling there was no adequate answer to what was obviously a rhetorical question, Simon just shrugged while trying very hard not to look at his watch. At that moment, the door opened and Sam's co-conspirators entered. 

Now Simon was worried.

__________________

Jim stood in the middle of Blair's old bedroom trying to figure out where in the hell that paper could be. He knew Blair had kept it, knew the changes he'd made to it, for no other reason than to satisfy himself.

He'd set out to write a dissertation and, if the first draft, meant for no one's eyes but his advisor's, had fallen apart around him thanks to his mother, Sid and of course, Evil Edwards, well, he'd simply polished off another one.

He'd written it like a man possessed, utilizing every spare minute while waiting to find out whether his scores at the Academy, combined with letters from Simon, Joel, Captains Finkelman, Menaj, Burroughs, along with the entire forensic team and three FBI agents, would be enough for the PC to allow him to become Jim's permanent partner. 

Granted, Blair had put it together over five years ago, but Jim knew it was here in this room - somewhere. And he was running out of time. Then it caught his eye - the special notebook; the one he knew only too well. The same one that had held Sandburg's original paper for months - the same notebook he'd 'borrowed' during the _night of the alligator_ as they'd come to call that memorable night- shift.

Borrowing and then reading it had almost ruined their friendship, but thanks to a guy named Gabe who'd saved Blair's life; a man Blair still insisted had been an angel, things had been put into perspective for Jim. It had served to not only solidify their friendship, but helped him understand his true feelings for his partner.

Now there it sat, five books piled on top of it, his sentinel sight able to spot the woven pattern on the spine. His instincts told him the second dissertation was contained within its unique covers. He checked his watch - shit, he had twenty minutes to get it to Rainier.

________________

"ESP?" Dan Stevens asked, his tone clearly telegraphing his skepticism.

Since it had been agreed that Sam would do all the talking, it was taking every ounce of strength Simon had to keep his mouth shut. And since he was standing with one foot on Jim's in order to keep _him_ ; from putting said foot in his mouth, he could do nothing but wait for Sam to continue the 'script' they'd discussed - and even rehearsed.

"Yes, Dan, ESP. That's why you and George are here; why I asked you two and none of the others. There's real trust between us, just as exists between Simon and myself."

He glanced from Dan to George and, seeing nothing but agreement and expectation, he went on. "You can certainly understand why having a detective with ESP isn't something the Cascade PD wants the world to know, right?"

At their nods, he continued, praying he wouldn't screw up. "Of course, such a gift only gets a detective so far in any given case and it's certainly not something that passes muster when it comes to actually convicting someone. They still need hard evidence."

George Mendez, the youngest board member by twenty years, held up a hand. "Wait a minute. I'm a bit lost here. I've certainly read up on everything that happened back then, but I think I'm missing a connection?"

With more than a little panic in his eyes, Sam looked at Simon while silently pleading with him to take over. 

Removing his foot from Jim's, Simon nudged him in the side and whispered Sentinel-soft, "You're up." 

Jim, never one to miss a cue, or Simon's yellow streak, stepped up to the plate. "Okay, simply put; Blair was writing a dissertation on police work but with a different spin on The Thin Blue Line thing. But, at the same time, he had this idea for a novel loosely based on my experiences during the 18 months I was trapped in Peru." He looked at the two men to see if any of this was playing and, to his surprise, they appeared to be on the edge of their seats, metaphorically speaking. Giving himself a pat on the back, metaphorically speaking, Jim plunged back into the fantasy.

"As you know, his initial dissertation was about people with heightened senses with emphasis on those with more than two. Only problem was, he never found anyone who met that criteria. But that kind of ended up playing a part in his novel. It was while he was struggling with changing his dissertation that we met, by accident, kind of thrown together on a case, so to speak, and that's when The Thin Blue Line thing popped into his head."

"Right," Simon interjected. "Wish you could have seen my face when he brought it up, but he won me over and I gave him permission to ride along with Jim."

"Exactly." Sam jumped back in. "And that's when he went to his faculty advisor, Professor Buckner, and received permission to make the change."

"All right, things are becoming a little clearer now, if somewhat out of order," George said. 

"Fortunately," Dan said, after shooting George a _you should know better_ look, "we're pretty quick on our feet and we're following along just fine."

Looking a bit apologetic, George nodded. "Yes, well...I'm guessing Hal never had the opportunity to make the dissertation change official before...before he was lost during that unfortunate business within the agricultural department." He turned his attention to Sam. "Right?"

"That's exactly it," Sam responded.

At the same time, Simon chimed in with, "Precisely," and not to be left out, Jim added a perfectly timed, "Absolutely!"

Exchanging a humorous look with George, Dan said, "Well done, gentleman. Well done."

Jim, looking more gobsmacked that things were working then feeling clever at how well they'd timed their responses, said, "We don't know what steps Sandburg had to take - or did take regarding the switch over, but then that's not really what this meeting's about. But at least you've got the gist of what went wrong - up to a certain point--"

"And you can see how it all exploded for Detective Sandburg," Sam interjected. "He'd finished his real dissertation and was prepping it for the Review Committee but had also finished his novel. And even though he took all precautions, his mother was so eager to have someone look at it before he turned it in that she--"

"She did exactly what she shouldn't have done," Jim interrupted, unable to keep the trace of bitterness out of his voice.

Simon stepped in front of him. "We all know how mothers can be and don't need to rehash that part of it right now. It's enough that we all know it was his novel she unknowingly sent to Sid Graham at Berkshire Publishing."

"Who saw it as a kind of Celestine Prophecy," Sam added.

Both George and Dan were nodding now but it was Dan who said, "That explains everything. Publishers have been looking for another Celestine Prophecy since '93." 

Simon moved around the large conference table to stand in front of the two board members. "I may not know everything about the inner workings of a university, but I sure as hell know that if it _had_ ; been Sandburg's thesis Graham had read, I sincerely doubt even something written by a guy as smart as Sandburg would have captured the imagination of a Sid Graham, let alone that Berkshire would have thought it publishable fictions."

George thoughtfully stroked his small mustache. "I can't disagree with you on that point. All three of us know how even the best dissertation can read and, while some may have been written so badly, their authors were accused of writing a piece of bad fiction; in all reality - just no. A first draft thesis isn't going to be mistaken for a novel." He turned his attention to Dan. "All of which means Detective Sandburg was telling the truth at his press conference, which also means--"

"Which also means," Jim interrupted, "that he threw everything away at that press conference, and our world literally blew up in our faces. I was being accused of being some sort of freakish Superman, which got us perilously close to having my real ability revealed. It also put our cases in jeopardy, plus Simon's. But would Evi--er--Chancellor Edwards listen? Or accept the real dissertation? No. In her mind, Blair already had two strikes against him. First, his work with me, and second, a previous case involving a student who'd raped another student, but whose father was a huge contributor to the university--"

"I remember that," Dan quickly added. "Ventriss, right?"

"Exactly," Sam answered for Jim. "The university lost a huge grant she'd secured from Brad's father, but a few weeks later, Carl Hendrix, our then-president, secured another grant from a donor who believed we were better off without money from someone like Ventriss. Not that it did Detective Sandburg any good."

"You're right about that," Jim affirmed. "It was one more nail in Sandburg's coffin as far as Edwards was concerned. Anyway, after telling him to get all of his stuff together, she had him escorted off campus by security. So basically you've got the whole story now, which also means--"

"Which also means," Sam interjected, "that Sandburg has a real dissertation and it's our duty to read it and make the determination as to whether he's earned that PhD." He indicated the item Jim was holding. "And I'm guessing the notebook Detective Ellison's been guarding like the Crown Jewels would be it."

Jim grinned as he held it up. "Yep. It's finished, has been for 5 years, but just sitting in our study." He looked at the three men, each in turn, before adding, "Whatever else he does with his life, no one deserves a PhD more than my partner, and you gentlemen have the power to make that happen."

Sam walked over to Jim and held out his hand. With some hesitancy, Jim gave him the notebook. "He doesn't know we're doing this, so in a way, we're recreating history, but I'm trusting the three of you not to allow any of this to blow up in his face again."

If there was the hint of a threat in Jim's tone, the three men wisely chose to ignore it - while at the same time, taking it in the spirit in which it was given. 

Sam moved to a seat at the table, with Dan and George joining him. Once they were seated, he looked up at Simon and said, "If you two would leave us to it, we'll see what we can do. I promise to get back to you quickly, and you have my word that this," he tapped the notebook, "will be safe with us."

"I'd like to wait," Jim said, his eyes glued to Blair's work.

Taking his arm, Simon started to lead him out, but Sam's next words stopped him.

"Feel free to wait out in the anteroom. We're under a time crunch, as you know. So we're going to do our best to bring this to a conclusion now." 

Jim started to speak up again but Simon stopped him by speaking first. "Right, exactly, we'll go out there, we'll sit, we'll wait." With that, he took Jim's arm and literally dragged him out of the room.

________________

Simon watched Jim pace and had to grin. Normally pacing was his job so he was getting a lot of satisfaction out of watching Jim go through his paces, especially since the team of Ellison and Sandburg were usually the reason behind his own pacing.

Oddly enough, he wasn't the least bit worried, but couldn't explain why. There was nothing about the three men in the office behind that closed door; nothing about their demeanor when they'd left them that told him the end result - and yet - he was damn sure all three were on their side. They've been careful at schooling their expressions and yet, he knew they'd won. Call it his faith or the angels he believed were among them, or call it a sentinel thing, whatever it was, he just knew they'd won.

________________

_December 25th_

"Hey, it's snowing."

Jim opened his eyes and looked out the windows. "Well, so it is. Guess we're going to have a white Christmas after all."

They were on the couch in the living room with Jim stretched out, his head in Blair's lap. There were a few lit candles and of course the tree lights shimmered brightly. The scent of their Christmas Eve tamales still hung in the air, promising leftovers before they finally headed up to bed. And to make everything perfect, Perry Como was singing all about coming home for Christmas. 

Blair tapped the top of Jim's forehead lightly. "It's already a white Christmas; it's twelve minutes after midnight." He leaned down and dropped a gentle kiss on Jim's lips. "Merry Christmas." 

With a lazy smile, Jim whispered, "Merry Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and everything else you can think of, Chief."

Blair chuckled. "Well, I'll give you Hanukkah since tonight will be day four, but Kwanzaa begins on the 26th. You're also a little behind on the winter solstice, which was the 21st."

Jim sat up, stretched out his arms, yawned, then said, "Okay, so we'll call this what it is, Christmas and the Blair Sandburg Special Day."

"Oh, wow, I get my own day?"

Jim got to his feet and walked over to the tree. He reached into the thick branches of their balsam fir until his fingers touched the right object.

"Hey, be careful, you know how the sap bothers you," Blair said as he jumped to his feet.

Turning around, object in hand and a jubilant expression on his face, he held it up. "Got it, and not a single touch of sap on it or me." He walked over to stand in front of Blair, a huge grin on his face.

"Mmm, may I say you have the sappiest grin on your face that I've ever seen?"

"Ha-ha, very funny, Sandburg." He waved the long, thin package under Blair's nose. "Aren't you the least interested in what I'm holding?"

"Well, that's Christmas paper and there's a ribbon around it ... so I'm guessing it's a Christmas present, and for me, _and_ you're going to let me open it now instead of waiting for morning even though technically, since it's after midnight, it is Christmas morning." He started to take the gift only to have Jim snatch it away and hold it up out of his reach.

"Not so fast, Chief. Who says this is for you? It could be for your mother or maybe Simon."

  
Looking disgusted, Blair simply held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "I can stand here all night, you know."

"Anybody ever tell you that you take all the surprise out of a surprise gift?"

"No, now hand it over before I have to get tough with you."

"The promise of getting tough isn't exactly an incentive to hand it over. Just the opposite in fact."

"In that case, hand it over or I won't get tough with you - or anything else with you. How's that for an incentive? Work better for ya?"

Laughing, Jim reached down, gently took Blair's hand and placed the gift in his palm. "Okay, it's all yours. And it's the only one you get to open tonight because it's actually an anniversary gift."

"Wow, you remember."

"Of course. Now open it, _'partner'_

Suddenly looking like the proverbial kid at Christmas, Blair sat down. Normally he'd have torn into it like the kid he could be this time of year, but instead he was very careful. Jim watched with some amusement as Blair slowly untied the ribbon and then removed each individual piece of tape before finally unfolding the wrapping paper to reveal...tissue paper. Frowning, he undid all the little folds and more tape, only to find...a roll of paper towels.

"Aw, Jim, you shouldn't have," he said with a smirk. "Let me guess; this signifies how we wipe up the criminal element of Cascade?"

"Damn, I wish I'd thought of that."

Rolling his eyes, Blair wagged a finger up his partner. "I thought you swore last year there'd be no more joke gifts. Wasn't that the deal?"

"Yes but since you know I never break a promise, I suggest you use your detective skills by doing a little reconnaissance."

Suspicious, Blair nevertheless started double-checking the roll. "I guess at the very least we'll have another roll of paper towels," he muttered."

Jim didn't bother to respond - he just watched - and sure enough, Blair finally looked into the cardboard roll itself.

"Well what do you know, you hid something inside. Let me guess, it's a toilet paper roll?"

"Would you just get to it, Sandburg."

If his grin wasn't so big, his words might have sounded harsh, but they were enough to get Blair to pull the item out, which turned out to be a piece of parchment, rolled up and tied with a red ribbon. 

"Let me guess again; you got a star named after me?"

"God damn it, Chief, you're killing me here. Just open it!"

Something in Jim's eyes must have clued Blair in because his hand was shaking ever so slightly as he undid the ribbon and slowly unfurled the paper. Once revealed, he became as still as a statue; eyes glued to the words in front of him.

Jim just waited.

After what seemed an eternity, and with eyes glistening with unshed tears, Blair finally lifted his head to look at his partner. "How... how did you do this?" he asked softly.

"Not to sound trite, or even too seasonal, but it took three wise men and a couple of pretty stubborn cops," Jim answered, his own eyes starting to sting a bit.

Blair looked over his shoulder at their study and then back to Jim. "You found it."

Nodding, Jim said, "Yep. And as it happens, Simon has a friend on the Board who, in turn, had two fellow board members who were equally trustworthy; so much so that he trusted our lives and your dissertation to them. The end result is that you're now Dr. Blair Sandburg... or Doctor-Detective Sandburg...or Detective-Doctor Sandburg...or--"

He didn't have a chance to finish because Blair had attached his mouth firmly to his. 

_*Now that's how you thank someone!*_ Jim thought.

________________

Sam walked over to the buffet table where Dan and George were talking quietly together. "You two aren't acting very Christmas-like. Keep this up and my wife's going to kill all three of us."

"To be honest," George said, "we were about to make a bet with each other until we realized we were on the same side of it."

"You guys better not be talking football or all three of our wives will kill us. You know the annual Christmas Day party rule; no football talk."

The other two men shared a secret look before Dan said, "The bet's got nothing to do with football."

Puzzled, Sam asked, "Okay, I'll bite."

Looking around to make sure there was no one close enough to hear them, and satisfied they were indeed far enough away, Dan leaned in and said, "We were going to bet on whether Ellison's really," he lowered his voice, "a sentinel, but it turned out neither of us fell for the ESP story and we both think he is, so no need to bet."

Sam grabbed a plate but, before heading over to the dessert table, said, "You're right, no need for a bet at all."

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays from your Secret Santa and your mod!

**Author's Note:**

> From your Secret Santa and your mod!


End file.
